


Prizes

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An interlude in intoxication</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prizes

**Author's Note:**

> Reading _Hotspur_ made me do it.
> 
> Originally posted 4-6-06

Bush shifted uncomfortably as Hornblower took his coat, holding it out for Bush to slide into. He swallowed, even the great quantity of drink not clouding his mind to the fact that his Captain’s hands were smoothing his jacket over his shoulders.

“A word, Mr. Bush?” Hornblower’s voice was low and private, though it held no hint of emotion or malice. “If it would not be an imposition?”

“Of course not, Sir.” His hands tugged at the lay of his jacket, straightening it, moving more from nervousness brought on by the casual stroke of Hornblower’s long fingers as he brushed Bush’s back before reaching around him to open the door.

“We’ll be but a moment, Maria.”

Bush shivered at the low comment, proceeding his Captain down the stairs of the boarding house and out into the street, moving away from the bustle of the road to the relative quiet of the alley beside the building at the touch of Hornblower’s hand against the small of his back.

“I just wished to express my thanks, Mr. Bush, in regards to your discretion with Mrs. Hornblower.”

“Discretion, Sir?” Bush tried to focus on Hornblower’s face, the dark set of his eyes and the proper countenance, but found his rum-muddled thoughts drifting down to the movement of his Captain’s mouth, the slide of word over lips.

“Regarding the prizes, Mr. Bush.”

“Oh. Of course, Sir.” Bush nodded slowly, forcing his gaze up to Hornblower’s eyes. “And the ship, Sir. She’s prepared to sail. We’ve fitted her and stocked her, Sir.”

“Your hard work is appreciated, Mr. Bush.” Horatio cleared his throat and glanced toward the road, his gaze brought back as Bush’s hand settled on the lapel of his jacket, his fingers plucking away an errant thread. “Thank you, Mr. B…”

The words were broken as Bush’s mouth sought out Hornblower’s. The heavy taste of rum was thick on Bush’s tongue as it pushed past the surprised parting of Hornblower’s lips. Hornblower’s hands went to Bush’s shoulders, his palms flat against the sharp plane of his body as Bush moved closer, his mouth angling over Hornblower's. His tongue slid deeper and Bush moaned thickly, his hands unclenching from Hornblower's jacket to smooth over his chest.

Horatio broke the kiss, inhaling deeply until Bush leaned in again, his teeth biting at Hornblower's lower lip before sucking on it, moving closer still. “Captain,” he breathed against Hornblower’s mouth, his hands sliding up to stroke the hard angles of Hornblower’s face as his drunk tongue plundered Horatio’s still shocked surrender.

A soft groan pierced the night, and Bush could not say who broke it, whose lips the sound fell from, so close was he to Hornblower. His body was hard against the thin line of Hornblower’s and then suddenly he responded, biting and licking at Bush's lips as if devouring the taste of the sea from their slick surfaces.

Hornblower’s hands slid down Bush’s chest to part the jacket he’d so carefully smoothed over Bush’s shoulders, fisting tightly before he spread them, splaying his fingers warmly over William’s stomach. Bush shivered, his breath heavy and thick as he found Horatio’s mouth again, run and need coating his tongue as he tasted Hornblower’s mouth, taking his time with slow, hard strokes.

Hornblower’s fingers dug into Bush’s stomach, tightening as he stole the kiss away from Bush, his mouth slick and wet, his tongue parrying Bush’s. The muscles of Hornblower’s arms quivered, his grip tightening on Bush even further. Another groan rent the night and Bush stepped closer, no distance between them as their hard, hot flesh met and instinct took over.

Bush planted his hands on either side of Horatio’s head, the stone rough against his palms as he thrust forward, their bodies grinding and rubbing and sliding against each others through thick trousers meant to keep out the cold, keep in the heat of their growing arousal.

The darkness of the alley formed a soft cocoon around them and Bush pulled back, staring with wide eyes at his Captain. He leaned in, stealing another kiss, the thought of prize money in his head as he took over, closing the distance between them, bringing them nearer. Bush could not help touching him, bringing his hands back to Hornblower’s face.

“William,” Horatio whispered his name, the sound separating them. Bush’s breath fought to break free of his chest as the sound locked inside him – his name so full of promise on his Captain’s tongue. Bush kissed him again, thrusting forward, pinning Hornblower again to the wall, reminding himself of being aboard ship where the passageways are narrow and the cabins are small and every touch carries meaning, every whisper a chance at life or death. Hornblower whispered his name again beneath his breath and Bush tasted his kiss once more.

The air brushed cold against Bush as Hornblower pushed him back, pushed him away with his not-quite steady hands. Bush shivered from the sudden lack of heat, from the damp night air that replaced the hard heat of Hornblower’s body.

Horatio’s jaw clenched and he nodded once, his eyes too dark to read, his face set in a mask Bush knew well. “Goodnight.” A nearly imperceptible tremor ran through him and he nodded once. “Mr. Bush.”

Bush nodded in response, his own jaw set. “Goodnight, Captain.”

There was a long silence as Hornblower’s mouth opened as if to say more then snapped shut. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back to the door of the boarding house, the faint echo of his shoes on the wooden stairs.

Bush rubbed the night into his face with brusque hands, shaking his head as he exhaled a slow, shaky breath. The night came alive around him again and he shook his head, turning himself in the opposite direction and heading back toward the docks, toward more rum, toward willing flesh.

Toward the sea.

He allowed himself a faint smile at the thought. So long as Bush had the sea, he would always own a piece of his Captain that his wife could never have.  



End file.
